


Bring on the Wonder

by river_soul



Series: Emily+Dean AU [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/river_soul/pseuds/river_soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds her a little after midnight, sits beside her on the aging wood but she doesn’t turn towards him and he doesn’t speak. Neither of them know what to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring on the Wonder

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Never is a Promise, assuming Emily went to live with Missouri after Father Jim's death.

 

\---

_Bring on the wonder_  
Bring on the song  
I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long

\---

Dean doesn’t get across the threshold before Missouri clocks him hard enough to send him reeling backwards into Sam. She doesn’t yell, which Emily takes for a good sign, but before Dean has a chance to decide if he _wants_ to come in, Missouri’s reaching out for his collar, snapping about the FBI and causing trouble as she herds him and Sam into the living room. Emily listens as she makes dinner in the kitchen, strains to hear them talk about their father, about what’s coming and what they need to do. When she finally sets the table, she can hear Missouri bullying them in that backhanded way Emily’s more than familiar with about staying out of trouble and being careful.

 

\---

After dinner Emily lets Dean corner her in the laundry room, press her against the washer and capture her mouth. She thinks about the last time he was here, six months ago when she found him sitting in the darkness of the kitchen, nursing a beer and brooding. She’d been nervous then, slick with fear at the thought of what she’d been preparing herself to do for months but strengthened by her desire. He hadn’t turned her away when she touched him or pressed a kiss to his mouth with a whispered _I’m 18 now_ against the stubble of his cheek. Instead he’d pulled her down to his lap, kissed her hungrily back, tongue tasting of flat beer.  
  
Emily kept the memory of his mouth, the feel of his body with her and now he’s before her, so strong and sure that her knees feel week. She wants this and she can sense the desire humming beneath her skin when he lifts her onto the washer, thumb pushing lightly against her jugular. She swallows hard, feels the muscles of her throat strain against his hand as heat spreads inside.  
  
Emily doesn’t stop him when he pushes the hem of her yellow dress up and his coarse fingers brush against the pale skin of her inner thigh. She stares at his mouth as he slides her cotton panties off, feels her heart strain against her chest. “Emily,” Dean says, and the blueness of his eyes swallow her whole as his hands force her forward, fingers guiding her legs around his waist.  
  
The material of his jeans is rough against her skin and then there is fear, of what she’s asking of him, of herself. He won’t stay here with her, he won’t be a husband, or even a lover. There is a moment when she wants to push him away, deny him what they started six months ago before Sam interrupted them, but it passes. Her desire for this, for the memory of him is stronger.  
  
She lets him leave bruises on her and closes her eyes against the brief look of concern that crosses his face when he enters her. “Emily,” he starts and she can hear the unease in his voice and _no, no, no._  
  
“Just…Dean,” she breathes and presses her heel into his back, listening to the way his breath hitches and his hand tightens painfully around her neck. She knows this isn’t his first time, that he’s left countless women behind and hasn’t cared. He’s going to die one day and Emily doesn’t know if she can live with his concern, but the moment is passing and he’s kissing her soft, too soft.  
  
 _Stop, stop, stop_ she thinks because she isn’t this girl and she doesn’t want to remember Dean like this. It was supposed to be different but everything’s all wrong and she feels like she's coming apart in his arms. "Please," she says and doesn't cry when she feels her body rise up and converge into some singularity before everything comes crashing back down again and she's left trying to hold the pieces of herself together.

 

\---

They disappear in the middle of the night and the note they leave is in Dean’s handwriting. Emily keeps it for two days, let’s herself cry in youthful foolishness before she throws it away and buries the memories of what she gave him deep inside. Missouri asks her nothing and Emily is grateful because she still remembers when he opened up before her and she saw something raw and dark glistening inside. She worries about what he’ll become as the wound he left inside her festers with old memories and fresh fears.

\---

She stands on the porch in an old, wrinkled linen summer dress with her hair plated in a messy braid with Missouri beside her. Today the battle is over and they wait like old war brides for the men to come back to them. There is a moment when the Impala’s engine dies and it's Sam who emerges from the driver’s side and a pale, dark haired woman from the passenger seat that Emily feels something honey sweet settle in her belly. She doesn’t realize she’s held her breath, too afraid to breathe until she sees Dean finally, broken arm held tight to his chest as he emerges.

\---

Emily watches the way Sam stays close to Ava, sees how she looks to him and says nothing when they clasp hands under the table. She finds them kissing, something gentle and soft like she’s dreamed of in the pale light of the kitchen and watches them before she leaves for the quiet of the porch. Dean finds her a little after midnight, sits beside her on the aging wood but she doesn’t turn towards him and he doesn’t speak. Neither of them know what to say.

\---

She finds a yellow rose on her bed three days later and recognizes it from their neighbor’s shrubbery. She smiles a little and brushes away the faint patch of dirt on her quilted comforter. She isn’t surprised when she sees Dean standing in the doorway, watching her. She doesn’t invite him in but he sits down beside her when she picks up the rose. He looks awful still, face a mess of ugly bruises and sharp cuts but it is the look of uncertainty, pained hesitation that makes her still.  
  
When he touches her face carefully, calloused thumb brushing over the rise of her cheekbone she closes her eyes and thinks about that day he rescued her in the apple orchard. It seems like so long ago. She feels like a different person but she’s pretty sure Dean isn’t. She thinks that might be a good thing, but she doesn’t know and that scares her. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say but she doesn’t think Dean does either so when he leans in to kiss her with enough softness to hurt she says nothing, opens up before him and hopes it will be enough.


End file.
